


The Brown Mare

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They had bound his hands behind him and mounted him on a skittish brown mare, and then they had waited for him to fall.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Set early S3.   Written 2009. Part of my 2015 archiving of old fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brown Mare

They had bound his hands behind him and mounted him on a skittish brown mare, and then they had waited for him to fall. Gisborne refused to play that game. The mare was uneasy at the absence of a hand on the rein but he gentled her with words forced soft despite his fear and anger, guided her with his knees and calmed her at last. Guy of Gisborne was a better horseman than any of Prince John's men.

When he finally relaxed and looked around him, he nearly laughed out loud. They'd taken the left fork south, through the edge of the forest. If they'd been kinder over the poor mare he would have warned them, but as it was he kept quiet. It would be a while till they reached the part of the forest where the track ran under high banks on either side. That would be where it came.

No need then, to worry about what he would say to John, how he would explain being the Sheriff's little present. Instead it would be Hood that he had to deal with, and, oh, did he prefer that!

Not far off dusk, and the trees were rising high on each side. Guy's eyes flickered from side to side, as he kept the mare calm. Falling from her was probably the greatest danger if the outlaws attacked; while the men around him might die, Hood wasn't going to place a quick and anonymous arrow into this back. He caught movement, kept quiet, tightened his knees. She was a good enough horse, when treated right; he was still astride when Hood came strutting down through the bodies.

Still, he didn't like this position, when any man could just lead the horse away. He braced himself on the back of the saddle with his bound hands, slid his leg over and down to stand beside the mare, waiting for the outlaws.

“Seems you've fallen out with your last friend. What do you intend to do now, Gisborne?”

Guy bared his teeth, welcoming Hood's challenge. “I don't need friends, Hood. I'm not lonely and desperate like you.”

Hood shook his head. “You look pretty lonely and desperate to me. What did you fall out with the Sheriff about?”

Why not the truth? “I didn't need anything he was offering. Not any more. I wanted you dead and he let you live long enough to escape. I don't need allies like that. He didn't like being argued with so he sold me out to John's men.”

Hood narrowed his eyes. “You'd not have chosen this road. Did you warn them?”

“No.”

“You're a murderous wretch. God help your enemies, Gisborne.”

“You killed them, not me.” Gisborne grinned. “Now what are you going to do?”

“Now that you've used me to kill your captors for you? Do you think I'd just let you go?” Robin's dagger was out, and he'd taken a step forward.

The dark monk by his side said “Robin”, warning. A familiar voice behind Gisborne said “We can't just kill him...” Gisborne lost his patience.

“For God's sake, Hood, is this vengeance by committee? If you'd not listened to these bleeding hearts two years back you'd have killed me and she'd still be alive. Get rid of them and then you can do whatever it is that you intend. I'll not be whined at.”

Hood looked round at his men. “I'll see you back at the camp.” There was dissent; he crushed it. The monk was still arguing, but Hood had more authority than he used to have. “Trust me, Tuck. Go!”

Guy looked round, caught Allan's eye. The man paused, almost ready to say something, then shrugged at Gisborne and left. Half an ally that one; Gisborne wondered if it was wise to have sent them away. Then he decided that he didn't much care. Just as he'd riled the Sheriff half deliberately, to see what would happen, now he would do the same to Hood. It was entertaining, and he cared very little for what the man might do. And possibly he could get these ropes off and kill the bastard. That was the best reason to get the man alone.

Gisborne watched the outlaws checking the bodies, gathering up the horses. No-one came near the brown mare. He could feel her flank still heaving slightly. The poor beast was still afraid, took comfort from him standing close up against her neck. More important than to calm the horse was to keep near the saddlebag, and his sword inside, tossed casually to one of the guard by his erstwhile master.

The men were soon gone. Hood was a couple of feet away, watching him. Gisborne flexed his wrists; the ropes weren't loosening.

“Would John have killed you?” Robin's dagger was still in his hand, voice cold.

Gisborne saw no reason to lie. “Possibly. He's unpredictable. I decided that I'd rather not find out.”

He tossed heavy hair out of his eyes. Uncut since the Holy Land; first neglect, then deliberate. Not until this was over. Wildness suited his mood, these days.

“So you let them lead you here.” Hood was fast, knife at his throat and Gisborne was backed hard against the horse, felt her move uneasily. “Enough of your games, Gisborne. I will not be played by you. Do you think you're safer here than with John? I want you dead a hundred times over.”

“Game?” Gisborne's indignation was genuine. “I'm not playing games, Hood. No more public spectacles, show trials, hangings. I want blood. I will strike you down the moment I get the chance. Just death, Hood. While you...you can't bring yourself to kill me , though you'll kill six men so that you can posture in front of me. You won't use that knife; we both know that. In the end I'll kill you because I'm not playing games and you are.”

The knife blade pushed closer, and Gisborne wondered if he had misjudged the man, if he was about to die. Then the blade withdrew. Gisborne could almost taste Hood's frustration. “God knows, you deserve to die, but I won't kill any man that way. Not even you.”

“So release me.” Gisborne forced his voice to sound casual. “Give me back my sword and let us end this here. I presume you've no objection to killing me in a fair fight. Not even your bleeding hearts would criticise you.”

Hood turned away. Gisborne pressed himself closer to the horse. Do it, he muttered. Free me. The man turned back.

“Fine. Let's do this thing.” His dagger was held up. “Turn round.”

Gisborne felt the ropes part. Without looking directly at Robin he moved around to the other side of the mare, opened the saddle bag. Then he looked across the horse's bag. Hood had sheathed his dagger, was waiting, hand on his sword hilt. Playing fair.

Guy slid a foot into the stirrup, swung himself onto the horse's back, blade bared. He yanked the reins round, kicked her into movement then dropped the rein to swing the sword two handed at the man below. A touch too slow, or Hood's reflexes were too fast; the man rolled under the mare and she shrieked, rearing. Visions of guts split on the ground; Guy was off the horse and falling badly, his ankle turning as he hit the ground. 

He staggered onto his feet, Hood two armslengths away and the mare spooked but unhurt, The man wouldn't even kill a damn horse; Guy should have stayed on her. Now he couldn't put any weight on the ankle and the pain was distracting.

Gisborne fended off the man two, three times, but pushed off balance, onto the broken ankle, he staggered to the ground, with Hood on top of him, eyes hot with anger at last. This was how it ended then. The sword at his throat wasn't stopping this time; no last words.

Then Hood fell sideways, was still. Gisborne looked up at the monk, leaning on his quarterstaff, looking pleased with himself.

“Whose side are you on?”

“I couldn't let him kill you in cold blood.” Arrogance and stupidity.

“Cold blood? That was his chance, to do it in hot blood, in a fair fight. You've killed him now.”

Tuck shook his head, uncomprehending. “He's just knocked out. He'll be fine in a bit.”

“He'll be dead in a bit.” Gisborne sheathed his sword, whistled at the brown mare, dragged his injured leg over the saddle. “Think I'll let him get that close again?”

He picked up the reins, turned her head back towards Nottingham. “How do you think your leader is going to defeat me if he can't bloody well kill me? He won't welcome your intervention, not this time.”

He kicked the mare one leggedly into a smooth canter. Time to wrestle a little power back from the Sheriff. No-one sold him out, not these days. Then once this ankle was healed he'd be hunting Hood down again.


End file.
